God's Skallywags

The God of Scribes looked down and sawThe bitter band of seven,Who had outraged his holy lawAnd lost their hope of Heaven:Came Villon, petty thief and pimp,And obscene Baudelaire,And Byron with his letcher limp,And Poe with starry stare.

And Wilde who lived his hell on earth,And Burns, the baudy bard,And Francis Thompson, from his birthMalevolently starred. . . .As like a line of livid ghostsThey started to paradise,The galaxy of Heaven's hostsLooked down in soft surmise.

Said God: "You bastards of my love,You are my chosen sons;Come, I will set you high aboveThese merely holy ones.Your sins you've paid in gall and grief,So to these radiant skies,Seducer, drunkard, dopester, thief,Immortally arise.

I am your Father, fond and just,And all your folly see;Your beastiality and lustI also know in me.You did the task I gave to you . . .Arise and sit besideMy Son, the best beloved, whoWas also crucified.